


medicae manus

by SOMNlARl



Series: Tumblr Prompts [11]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Boys Kissing, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cullen is a sweetheart, Diabetes of the soul inducing fluff, Dorian is sick and not happy about it, Fluff, Giveaway fic, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vivienne is actually capable of worrying thank you very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for my 200 follower giveaway on tumblr; </p>
<p>prompt: cullrian sickfic</p>
<p>+dorian is a sick lil brat that demands attention but then turns all attempts to make him feel better away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	medicae manus

Cullen’s just settling into his chair to catch up on the reports that have piled up while he’d been trapped in the War Room when he could swear he hears a noise coming from his loft above. He shakes his head and sighs, turning back to the reports awaiting him. He’s imagining things, he must be; it had been a very long day. No one would be in his quarters besides himself or a waiting runner. He’s halfway through a reply to Knight-Captain Rylen when he hears it again, louder and more insistent this time. A groan? Who or what could be up in his quarters, he wonders, his hand coming to rest on the pommel of his sword. He crosses the room quickly, climbing the ladder rung by rung.

As he pulls himself up above the floorboards an unexpected sight awaits him. There was definitely  _someone_  in his bed, a someone with a very familiar but uncharacteristically rumpled head of dark hair who was currently buried underneath piles of blankets.

“Dorian? What are you…”

The mage groans unhappily as he burrows even further into his nest of blankets. “Go away!”

“Go away?” Cullen asks, bemused. “You’re in  _my_  bed! In my quarters?”

Dorian only sniffs pitifully and lets out a small, sorrowful moan in response.

“You know I always want you in my bed but…” he pauses as he sits on the edge of the mattress, pulling the blankets down. As he uncovers Dorian’s head the mage mutters something Cullen’s sure is horribly rude in Tevene under his breath and glares blearily at him. “Are you alright? You don’t look well.” He raises a hand to Dorian’s brow, smoothing his hair back. He sucks in a breath and frowns as his hand lingers over a too-warm forehead, fingers combing through thick, tangled waves.

“I’m not sick!” Dorian protests right before he sneezes violently. He groans and turns to bury his face in a pillow. “Ugh… well if I am ill this nonsense is all your fault, you know.”

Cullen raises an eyebrow as he procures a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it into the mage’s  outstretched hand. “My fault?”

“That bloody hole,” Dorian growls which quickly shifts to a cough. “In your roof. You were supposed to get it fixed months ago. And yet here we are and still it remains substantially more hole than roof.”

“Yes,” Cullen replies dryly. “It clearly has nothing to do with your proclivity for wearing clothing that leaves half of you exposed to the elements.”

Cullen reaches over to the small, battered crate currently serving as a bedside table and pours a cup of water from the waiting ewer.  

“Can I get you anything?” He asks as he hands the glass to Dorian who takes a sip with a relieved sigh. “Tea? A potion? Should I summon a healer?”

Dorian makes a noise not at all unlike an irritated, wet cat and Cullen chuckles. “No healer then, though you really should consider it. Are you hungry? I imagine I could convince the cook to part with some soup.”

“An assassin, perhaps? To hasten my imminent demise.” Dorian flops back on the pile of pillows, flinging an arm across his eyes.

“You’re not dying, Dorian.” Cullen rolls his eyes as he takes the cup back from the mage, placing it on the floor beside the bed out of reach of flailing arms. “ _Maker’s breath_ , it’s likely just a head cold, don’t be so dramatic.”

Dorian coughs and it’s so raw and painful-sounding that Cullen finds himself rubbing the mage’s upper back in sympathy until he quiets. “I do believe I’m the one who raises things from the dead on a regular basis, Amatus. I think I’m well aware of what dying feels like.”

The altus yawns, his eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to focus fever-bright eyes. Cullen locates his other handkerchief, dips it in the ewer and wrings it out again before softly placing it across Dorian’s brow. “Get some rest,” he whispers but he doesn’t leave until Dorian’s breath slows and evens as he drifts off to sleep.

***

He returns, a full tray in his arms; the cook had been easy enough to convince, sending him off with broth, bread, a pot of tea and a plate for himself. Obtaining the potions had been more difficult. The healer had refused him entirely without the mage present so he’d gone to Madame de Fer instead. It had taken quite a bit of persuasion before she’d reluctantly agreed to hand over a potion for fever and another for Dorian’s cough without being able to see her patient.

“Now, remember Commander. Make sure he takes half of each this evening and the rest in the morning,” she’d clucked imperiously. “And if he’s still unwell by mid-day you are to summon me immediately.”

He’d assured her that would be unnecessary -  _it was just a cold, for Andraste’s sake_ \- and she’d fixed him with a look he’d have translated as worried if he thought Vivienne were capable of such a thing. “Illness can easily take a turn from benign to deadly nearly overnight, my dear. If he’s not improved tomorrow you will call for me or I shall be very upset.”

He’d nodded, backing out of the woman’s rooms too quickly for subtlety.  _Maker_  but she was terrifying.

Getting the tray up the ladder proves a bit of a struggle but eventually he manages and sets it down on the small crate. Dorian is mercifully asleep, tangled in blankets slipped low around his hips, exposing his chest flushed red with heat. Cullen catches hold of the edge of the sheet and pulls it back up over him, turns to the ladder to try to get some work done when Dorian wakes.

“Where’re you going? Missed you…” he mumbles sleepily before he breaks into a fit of harsh, wracking coughs, shaking fingers fumbling for the cup of water. Cullen’s at his side in seconds, he hands the cup to Dorian then trails his fingers down the mage’s jaw.

“Well, that doesn’t sound very good,” Cullen says brightly, trying not to sound concerned even as his heart clenches in his chest. “I brought you some soup.”

The only reply he gets is an irritated sniffle and a pathetic glare through bloodshot eyes. He leans over to brush his lips against Dorian’s brow, lingering even as they tingle with heat, pushing the damp strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead back into place with a hand.

“Vivienne sent potions that should make you feel better but you need to eat something first.” He dips the spoon into the bowl but drops it as Dorian grabs his wrist.

“You are  _not_  feeding me,” he says sulkily before he’s interrupted by a sneeze. “ _Fasta vass_ … I am perfectly capable of doing this myself!”

Cullen chuckles as he hands the bowl to Dorian, watching as the mage glares suspiciously at the contents before halfheartedly starting to eat. The bowl’s barely half empty when Dorian insists he’s finished. Cullen isn’t in the mood for an argument and decides that it’s probably good enough. He uncorks the glass vials and hands them both to Dorian.

“Here. Half now, then the rest in the morning.” He worries when Dorian swallows each mouthful slowly without complaint beyond a grimace at the taste and falls back against the pillows.

“Get some sleep, my love,” he says as he turns to leave but Dorian catches hold of his leg and clings to him with all the desperation of a child holding a stuffed toy after a nightmare.

“Jus’ stay… please?” Dorian’s voice sounds rough and heavy, sleep-thick and Cullen realizes that whatever Vivienne gave him must have worked quickly.

He strips out of his armor, not bothering to take the time to put each piece back neatly. Once down to nothing but his smalls and a fresh linen tunic he climbs into bed, pulling Dorian towards him until their foreheads touch. He presses a soft kiss to Dorian’s cheek as he whispers “sleep now, my heart” against his lover’s skin.

***

Dorian sleeps but Cullen doesn’t. He lies awake as Dorian’s restless in his arms, occasionally stirring with a cough but always settling again, whimpering and twitching as he drifts from one fever dream to the next.  _This could be my life_  he thinks as Dorian moans and he strokes his cheek softly. Rarely has he bothered thinking about what might come after all of this - after the Inquisition - but now, lying awake beside his lover he can see them living together, growing old together. Weathering good times and bad, in sickness and in health.

It feels right.

Dorian’s fever breaks just as the first rays of winter sunlight rise over the peaks of the Frostbacks. Cullen sighs with relief as he kisses the mage’s forehead and finds nothing but cool, dry skin.

Dorian stirs at the touch, opens his eyes and snuggles closer into Cullen’s chest. Cullen can’t help himself, even as he knows he shouldn’t he kisses him, slowly slipping his tongue through slightly-parted lips until Dorian pulls away, breathless, stifling a cough into his knuckles.

Cullen smiles as he hands the last of the potions to Dorian who pulls a face.

“Amatus,  _please_.” Dorian smiles hopefully at him even as he sniffs and dabs at his nose with Cullen’s handkerchief. “I’ll be fine now, no more of those dreadful things?”

“Well, if you want to explain to Madame de Fer why you disobeyed her orders…” he trails off, nosing Dorian’s cheek before kissing him again. Dorian’s brow furrows in thought and he frowns before he decides that he does  _not_  want to face Vivienne’s wrath and chokes down the remains of both vials with a hard swallow.

“You know… you’re probably going to come down with this now, kissing me senseless like that,” Dorian says with a shrug as he curls up against Cullen’s chest, sighing happily as the man runs his fingers softly up his temples and through his hair. 

Cullen laughs softly, pressing his lips against Dorian’s brow. “Then I suppose you’ll just have to return the favor when I’m so afflicted, my heart.”

Dorian hums contentedly as he closes his eyes. “I think I can do that, Amatus.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on tumblr! i'm xhermionedanger. 
> 
> _medicae manus_ : healing hands


End file.
